Travel Scholarships. Jules Verne
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everything ready?”
‘Everything.”
“Is the ship still at anchor?”
“Still, Harry; and, while crossing the dock, I heard that the passengers of the Alert had arrived in Queenstown.”
“All right,” answered Harry Markel, “we must be on board before them.” “How?” asked Ranyah Cogh.
“The others and I,” replied Corty, “were able to get hold of a rowboat.”
“Where is it?” said Harry Markel.
“Five hundred feet from the tavern, along the dock, down a landing.”
“And our mates?’
“They’re waiting for us. There isn’t a moment to lose.”
“Let’s leave,” answered Harry Markel.
The bill having already been paid, there was no reason to call the innkeeper. The four criminals could even leave the room without being noticed, in the middle of all the tumult.
At that moment, a great noise erupted outside, the noise of people shouting and shoving.
Like a cautious man who did not want to expose his clientele to any unpleasant surprises, the innkeeper cracked open the door and said:
“Beware! The constables!”
No doubt, several of the Blue Fox regulars did not want to come into contact with the police; there was a furious commotion. Three or four started toward the back exit.
One moment later, a dozen or so agents came into the tavern and closed the front door behind them.
As for Harry Markel and his three companions, they had succeeded in leaving the room without being noticed.
5 A Daring Move
The plan that Harry Markel and his companions were risking to escape the police was an audacious one, if ever there was! That very night, in the middle of Cork Harbor, some miles from Queens-town, they would attempt to take over a ship, with its captain and crew already aboard. Assuming that two or three of the men had stayed on land, they would soon come back, since night was falling. Perhaps the criminals would have the advantage of numbers?
It is true that certain circumstances would help insure the success of this project. The crew of the Alert comprised twelve men, including the captain, whereas the gang only counted ten including Harry Markel, but the latter would have the advantage of surprise. The ship would not be on its guard, deep in Farmar Cove. The screams would not be heard on shore. The crew’s throats would be cut and their bodies thrown into the sea without their having had time to defend themselves.
Then, Harry Markel would weigh anchor and the Alert, all sails up, would only have to set off from the bay to cross Saint George’s Channel to reach the Atlantic.
In Cork, obviously, no one would be able to explain why Captain Paxton had left under those conditions before the students of the Antillean School, for whom the Alert had been specially chartered, had come aboard. And what would Mr. Horatio Patterson and his young companions say, who had just arrived as Corty1 had announced, when they no longer found the ship at its anchorage in Farmar Cove? Once the ship was at sea, it would be difficult to find it and to capture these bandits who had just massacred its crew. Moreover, Harry Markel was right in thinking that the passengers would not want to embark before the next day, and the Alert would be far away from Ireland by then.
As soon as they were outside the tavern, having crossed the patio whose door opened onto a narrow street, Harry Markel and Corty went one way, John Carpenter and Ranyah Cogh went the other, guessing that it was better to split up in order to throw off the policemen as they went back down to the port. They were to meet where the rowboat was waiting for them near the landing with their six mates, a place that the boatswain knew since he had put into port several times before in Queenstown.
Harry Markel and Corty went back up the street—luckily, since constables at the lower end blocked the street where it ran by the docks.
Already a number of policemen occupied the street in the midst of an ever-growing crowd. Men and women from this populous neighborhood wanted to witness the arrest of the pirates of the Halifax who had escaped from the seaside prison.
In a few minutes, Harry Markel and Corty had reached the other end of the street, clear on this side and badly lit. Then they started across a parallel street while descending toward the port.
They couldn’t pass by without hearing the remarks exchanged by people in the crowd, and, while this transient population was typical of any seaside city, the comments were nevertheless most unsparing toward these criminals who were worthy of being hanged. But they did not worry at all about public opinion, as one might expect. They were concerned only with avoiding the constables, with having too much the appearance of people who are fleeing, and with reaching their meeting place.
Queenstown (photo by W. Lawrence of Dublin).
Upon leaving the tavern, Harry Markel and Corty had walked separately across the neighborhood, sure to reach the docks by continuing to follow the street. Once at its end, they met up again and moved toward the landing.
This quay was more or less deserted, vaguely lit by a few gas lamps. No fishing boats were coming nor would any arrive before two or three o’clock. The tide was not yet coming in. There was no risk of the rowboat being met as it crossed Cork Harbor.
“Through here,” said Corty, pointing to his left, the side where a port light was shining and, further up on a hill, the lighthouse that marked the entrance to Queenstown.
“Is it far?” asked Harry Markel.
“Five or six hundred feet.”
“But I don’t see John Carpenter or Ranyah Cogh.”
“Perhaps they weren’t able to get out through the lower side of the street to reach the quay?”
“They must have made a detour. They’ll hold us up.”
“Unless,” answered Corty, “they’re already at the landing.”
“Let’s go,” said Harry Markel.
And both began walking again, being careful to avoid the rare passers-by who were going toward the neighborhood that was still full of the crowd’s noise around the Blue Fox. One minute later, Harry Markel and his companion stopped on the quay.
The other six were there, lying down inside the boat, which they had kept in the water, even at the lowest tide, so it was easy to climb aboard.
“Have you seen John Carpenter or Ranyah Cogh?” asked Corty.
“No,” answered one of the sailors, pulling himself to standing by a rope.
“They can’t be far,” said Harry Markel. “Let’s stay here and wait.”
The place was dark, and there was no risk of them being seen.
Six minutes passed. Neither the boatswain nor the cook appeared.
This was becoming very worrisome. Harry Markel did not have enough of his people to carry out their plan and, if need be, fight the crew of the Alert if they could not strike by surprise.
It was nearly nine o’clock. A very dark evening, under a sky more and more covered with low and still clouds. Although it was no longer raining, a sort of mist was falling onto the bay—a favorable circumstance for the fugitives, even though they would have some trouble finding the anchorage of the Alert.
“Where’s the ship?” asked Harry Markel.
“There,” answered Corty, pointing toward the southeast.